Jake was pleased with the takeoff. It had gone smoothly, and, despite the high altitude, he was still climbing more than fifty percent faster than his Chancellor had been capable of even at sea level takeoff and traveling nearly twice as fast as the Chancellor could even dream of on climb-out. He turned to the right, marveling over how nicely the aircraft handled, watching as the compass spun to the heading of 350. After rolling out of the turn, he retracted the flaps, which brought the nose down a bit, settling them into a climb of two thousand three hundred feet per minute. A glance forward told him he was in no danger of not clearing the high terrain ahead as long as this rate of climb was maintained.
Guaymaral Approach handed him off to Bogota Center. He gave his position and they confirmed it matched with what their radar was getting from his transponder. They directed him to turn to 005 and to climb to flight level 200 for now but to expect to climb out to flight level 310.”
“Three one zero?” Laura asked, once again violating the sterile cockpit rule but they were well past ten thousand feet now, so it did not really matter much. “That’s thirty-one thousand feet, right?”
“That’s right,” Jake confirmed. “We’re in the freakin’ stratosphere now, hon. Literally.”
“Cool,” she said, genuinely impressed.
As soon as they intersected Airway J9, which led to the CVD VOR station just across the Venezuelan border, the point in their flight plan where they would make a left turn toward Caracas, Jake turned on the autopilot and let it take over. He set the auto-throttle for 220 knots and then turned on the GPS navigation and the flight director. The plane obediently heeled over a bit and lined up exactly with the airway, continuing to climb to the altitude he had set. Though the autopilot was using GPS to find its way, Jake kept the nav radio programmed to switch to each upcoming VOR on their route as a backup. When they reached flight level 200, they were directed to climb to flight level 250. He adjusted the altitude setting accordingly and they continued their assent. Once they reached 250, he was directed to climb and maintain flight level 310. He programmed that in, and they ascended some more. Finally, when they reached 310 sixteen minutes after liftoff, he set the auto-throttle to 235 knots indicated—the most fuel-efficient setting at that altitude—and they began to pick up speed. 235 knots indicated at 31,000 feet equated to a true airspeed of 350 knots, or about 400 miles per hour over the ground at a throttle setting of only sixty-two percent.
“That’s pretty fast,” Laura remarked when he explained that to her.
“Yep,” Jake agreed, still a bit nervous about the upcoming descent and landing at SBIA but feeling much more confident now that he had got them airborne and on course without even a minor incident.
“The scenery is incredible,” Laura said.
And it was. They were flying over the Tropical Andes Mountains—the northernmost section of the largest mountain range on Earth. Below, as far as the eye could see in every direction, was a huge expanse of peaks ranging from fifteen to twenty thousand feet in elevation. Snow capped most of the taller peaks but down lower was dense tropical rainforest. Steep canyons cut over millions of years by the flowing rainwater could be seen between the peaks, their rivers twisting and turning, occasionally forming small lakes. Clouds drifted in between the peaks just below the snowline.
“Yeah,” Jake agreed. “You can’t get a view like this through the little window on a commercial jet.”
“Nope,” she said. “It is a little bumpy though.”
That was true as well. They were flying over a huge mountain range in a plane that was considerably smaller than an airliner. The turbulent air being pushed upward by wind flowing over and through the mountains was making them bounce and bump around considerably.
“It’ll smooth out once we get over the plains,” Jake promised, his eyes still taking in the view. “You know, this is why I really love flying. Not just because it gets me where I’m going fast, but because I get to see things like this. I get to see how big our planet really is and how much empty, desolate space there is down there.”
“That’s deep, sweetie,” Laura said, reaching over and patting his leg. “I wish I had some smoke so I could ponder that properly.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought it might be a bad idea to bring marijuana from Colombia into Venezuela when we have to go through a customs check in a plane we just purchased from an alleged Colombian drug lord.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I can see your concern with that.”
“I just hope Señor Gomez made sure to empty all of his stashes before we took possession.”
“Yeah ... me too,” she said, seemingly more nervous about that thought than anything else that had happened today.
They bounced and bumped their way along for about twenty minutes and then came out of the mountains over the Llanos Plains, a vast expanse of tropical jungle terrain. As Jake had promised, the turbulence mellowed out considerably when they left the mountains behind.
“All right!” Laura announced, unbuckling her restraint. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Jake asked.
“Time to pee in the plane,” she said. “I deliberately didn’t go before we left just so I could try out the facilities.”
“You realize that once you actually go in that toilet, I have to arrange to have the tank dumped out at some point.”
“No, I did not really think about that,” she said, “but I’m still going to pee. I’ve been looking forward to this ever since you first told me about this plane.”
As she worked her way back there, Jake sighed and looked up at the overhead panel. Just next to the exterior light switches was a switch labeled LAV VAC. He flipped it to the on position and watched as the little light illuminated. Her toilet was now hot.
She opened the door and shut it behind her. After about three minutes or so, Jake faintly heard the sound of the toilet whooshing. The door opened again and she stopped at the sink to wash her hands. She tried to turn it on and nothing happened.
“Hey,” she said. “There’s no water.”
“Sorry,” Jake said, thinking it was testament to how quiet the plane was that he could even hear her. He reached up and flipped another switch on the overhead panel, this one labelled INT H2O. “Try it now.”
He heard the sound of water running a moment later. “That did it,” she announced. She washed her hands and then dried them with paper towels from a roll installed next to the bar. She threw the towels in a little trash receptacle and then made her way back forward.
“How was it?” Jake asked as she sat back down in the copilot’s seat.
“A little cramped,” she said. “A little awkward during the wiping process, but otherwise very nice.”
“That’s good to know,” he said. “I learned at the type-rating that the toilet seat is certified safe to use for takeoffs and landings.”
“Really? Why would someone want to do that?”
“Most of these planes are used by charter companies,” he said. “I’m guessing that that is where the flight attendant sits if all the other seats are full.”
“Wow,” she said, marveling over that. “I was wondering why there were seatbelts on the side of the toilet. I just thought it was in case you had to go while there was turbulence.”
“I guess you could use it for that too,” he said with a shrug.
“I’d have to go really bad to try that trick.”
They flew onward for another minute or so and then Jake looked over at her. “You better put your seatbelt back on. We’re going to pass pretty close to the mountains again as we cross into Venezuela.”
“I’ll put it back on in a bit,” she said. “Right now, there’s another first I need to accomplish.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiled her come hither smile at him. “I notice this cockpit is a lot roomier than in the Chancellor.”